


In The Name Of Fire

by FridaVI



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 15:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3942655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FridaVI/pseuds/FridaVI
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man's body is found in Mirkwood. The Elves are blamed for his death so Sigrid and Bain need to unravel the mystery before the war between the people of Esgaroth and the Elves will occur. Can they find the true murderer before it's too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Esgaroth, Third Age, 2941

"Do we need to do this?" Bain said. He scratched his head while contemplating about other choices.

"Do you want us to starve to death or what?" Sigrid asked. She lengthened her steps without waiting for her brother.

Bain shook his head. They were slowing down by the heat. Bain removed his scarf and swept his face.

Tilda also grew hot. She loosed her collar and pulled the hem of her skirt up to her knees. Her skin turned flush.

"Do what father said." Sigrid grabbed his shoulders and squeezed. "Pull yourself together."

Bain looked away, and Tilda nodded, wiping the tear with her thumb. She dragged her feet while Bain poked along.

Sigrid swung a wooden rod to clear the field ahead. Their sheep hopped past the glade before them. Here, there was plenty grass for sheep. Sigrid could leave them in the meadow for a couple of hours during the fish hunting in the forest. Father had told her to slaughter their sheep. Sigrid didn't do that, not because she loved them, but because they gave milk. Tilda's still very young and she needed milk. Every time her favorite drink was run out, she screamed unstoppable and that's the only thing Sigrid wanted now, a grumpy kid crying for milk. For the love of the child, let the sheep live, Sigrid thought.

"The decision must be made," Bain said.

"Yes." She'd told Bain on that morning. "Kill them now and we have nothing left. We can slaughter them later if we like, but let it be the last option."

"But how we're going to survive. There's nothing to eat," Bain asked, staring back with his blackened eyes.

"We stick together," Sigrid replied.

"No, I'll go to Gondor. There might have some works over there."

"And what are you going to do there? You're too young. You'll end up being a beggar on the street. Stay with me. Wait for father to return," Sigrid said.

"Father? Three months without a letter? Maybe he's dead. Who knows? There's nothing left here. I'll work as a stable boy or a shoe shiner somewhere. I'll send back some money. And that's how we're going to survive. Be rational, sis."

"I am rational. Don't you dare question about my sanity! Keep your chin up," she said, "and everything will be better."

"How do you know that?" Bain asked. He kept his eyes on his feet.

"Have faith."

"In what? In Eru? Where was him when mother died?"

"No, in us." Sigrid pulled her brother in her arms and hug him tightly. "I can't let you go there alone. All right? We will make it through. Together we will withstand. I promise."

Finally, Bain gave up and followed Sigrid's decision. They would go to Mirkwood, hunt some fish and sell them. Sounds like a good plan, Bain thought. But by then he started to realize it would be an impossible task to accomplish.

Tilda cried out again while stepping on a thorny bush.

Bain squatted down to rub his sister's feet. They were swollen. "Can we take a short break? It's too far. By the time we reach the river, we'd be too tired to catch anything," Bain said. He neither wanted to go further. He crouched down like a frightened cat next to his little sister.

Sigrid turned her back to them. "We have no time. Be strong, brother. Just keep moving."

Tear filled Tilda's eyes again and Bain yanked her up. Tilda shook her head and sat on her heels. He, too, sat down.

"It's getting dark soon," Bain said, "and we're not going to make it to the headwaters on time—"

"Then we have nothing to eat today," Sigrid said.

"Look, even we can, the water source is shallow and there are only small fish like darters live. It's a waste of time hunting for tiny fish." Bain explained.

"If there's no fish at the river mouth, don't you think it's logical to go upstream? There might be other places that have plenty of fish."

"Yes, but we can't wander randomly in the forest. And what about the money father gave you?"

"I don't know how long we have to live on our own," Sigrid said, "so we have to be very cautious what we spend."

"We can borrow some money. I'll work hard to pay back our debts later. There must be some jobs at the dock and—" Bain suggested.

"No, we are the bloodline of the Lords of Dale. We do not beg." Sigrid raised her voice. She clenched her teeth with anger.

"Swallow your pride. You drag us here for what? To get killed by wolf or bear? There's an easier way out but not like this. I don't want to die in the middle of nowhere. OK? Think hard, Sigrid. It's not embarrassed to ask for help."

Sigrid turned livid. "We do not beg," she said again.

Bain dropped his head. He rubbed a bead of sweats on his forehead with the sleeve. "If anything happens to us. It's on you, all right?"

"All right. I'll take the full responsibility from now on." Sigrid offered him her hand, but Bain refused to accept her reconciliation. He turned away.

"How can you be so sure? You don't even know where we're going,"

"For God's sake! We can go on like this forever. Just shut up, both of you, and follow me." Sigrid screamed at the top of her voice.

Tilda bit her fingers before bursting out crying. It's too much to bear for a little girl. She was forced to walk for four hours without anything to eat. And now her siblings were fighting like cat and dog.

"Stop crying!" Sigrid turned to Tilda. Bain still looked away. For the first time in many years, he felt hopeless. They worked hard for food this summer, but there's barely anything left in the lake.

Three months ago their father had come back with an empty boat, disappointing and gloomy. "The worst time in twenty years. No fish, nothing," Bard said, "and don't mention about the harvest from the fields. I'll go to Gondor. There are some works over there." Famine, the greatest enemy, had robbed everything from the people of the Lake-town, even their exhausting souls. And now, it stole away his beloved father. Where is he anyway? Bain thought.

"We won't give up. Not like this." Sigrid's voice was broken. She could feel warm tears falling. "Stand up. Stand up now. Both of you. Don't you ever—," she said. Sigrid dropped herself to the ground and buried her face on her knees. She trembled.

"Please, don't cry. I'm so sorry. I'll do anything. Please, please, stop crying. You're killing me," Bain said.

"Don't you ever—give up—" Sigrid finished her sentence while letting her tear fall down. It's a catharsis for her.

"Let's go. I'll complain no more," Bain said, "Look at me. Would you please at least look at me?"

Sigrid stood up. "Yes, you're right. Let's go. We should get going."

The sky was crystal clear. The warm light gleamed behind the fortress of pine trees. The only sound Sigrid could hear was tree rustling for mercy from the sun. They were slowly burned. A horrific death, Sigrid thought. The sheep bleated, too, for compassion. Sigrid also wanted to go back to their cottage since the heat was unbearable. She took off her cloak and thought about her plan. They were half way to the river source. Even reaching there by noon, they might not be able to get back on time the cargo ships boarded at the harbor. Dried fish, that's all they needed. She would sell them in a few days. Eat some and sell some. That would be enough for a week. And then what? She thought. She could trap some small animals, birds, frogs, or even rats. At least they would manage to survive this harsh time. Bard would soon collect some money and come to pick them up to Gondor. Sigrid calculated the chance. They must buy some more salt this afternoon as well. Father had left some coins before leaving. They must be hurried. Otherwise, the market would soon be closed and all the fish would be rotten the next morning without salt. Catching fish in the forest would take forever but she must do everything she could.

"What about the Elves?" suddenly Tilda asked.

Bain glanced at Sigrid and covered Tilda's mouth with his palm. He wouldn't dare to speak the word himself. Coming home with empty hands is not the only thing he fears the most. An old tale said there were gray fairies in the wood, but he had never seen one. He heard they had abducted, tortured and killed children. What a vile myth. Hopefully, they would come home safely.

"Don't speak of the devils. It's a bad omen," he whispered into Tilda's ear and she nodded.

"I'll kill them with my bare hands. Don't you worry," Sigrid said. She swung a dagger swiftly in the air. "Father taught me to fight so I'll protect you two from the wicked Elves."

Bain took the dagger and put it back into the sheath. "Don't be too cocky. They can slice up your throat in a split second." He gave her a black look. "Grandma said there's a dungeon for a brash kid like you. It lies deep under the king's throne hall. There, they cut you open while you're alive and—"

"Stop there. Grandma's old and insane. Don't believe a word—" Sigrid said.

"She saw them! She'd told me before she died. The elves took grandpa and locked him up in the dungeo—"

"No more creepy tale, kids. Let's go." Sigrid held Tilda up on her back. "And, in fact, grandpa died in the sea."

"How do you know for sure?" Bain looked around with his watchful eyes.

"Father told me."

"Doesn't mean it's the truth."

"I don't believe in fantasy," Sigrid said.

"OK, fine. Believe whatever you want. But be careful. Don't lead us into any trouble." Bain shrugged.

"In the name of Eru, I promise." Sigrid held her right hand up.

"Sounds like a good way to lie." Bain sighed.

Sigrid waved away her hand. She grabbed Bain's collar and pushed him forward. There was a big mound blocked the path. The ground was lopsided and slippery. Sigrid, with Tilda on her back, trotted uphill.

"Come on. Hurry up." Sigrid yelled at Bain while he slowly climbed up behind them.

"I can hear you loud and clear. No need to scream," Bain said.

Sigrid stretched out her arm, trying to grab Bain's hand. But before she could reach him, she tripped over her legs.

Tilda knocked her head on Sigrid's shoulder. Bain took her in his arms in time while Sigrid rolled down the hill like a ball into a muddy swamp. Bain exhaled.

"I'm all right," Sigrid crawled like a worm. She finger-combed her unkempt hair quickly and rubbed her dirty face with the gray patchwork skirt.

Bain bowed down while Sigrid dragged herself up. Tilda, followed Bain, curtsied.

"What are you doing?" Sigrid tilted her head to the sideways.

"I'm paying homage to the Queen of trolls." Bain mocked at her.

Sigrid smacked him on the head. "Let's move." She leaped over a log, but stumbling on the hem of her skirt and fell down again.

Bain pull her up. "It's going to be a long day." He sighed.

They hiked deeper into the forest where the sun disappeared completely behind thick willows. Sigrid clawed a spider web from the twigs. It was too dark. Bain narrowed his eyes. He couldn't see where the path ends. To his right, there was the river leading to the end of the World. And to his left there were overgrown hedges, weeds, and shrubs. Their path was steep and narrowed. The smell of dead leaves and wild flowers hung in the air. Here were no other people, not even a talking owl like in a fairytale to ask for the way out. They shouldn't have come. He could work on a fishing boat or in a tavern instead of running around like a lunatic in this haunting wood, he thought.

Tilda stopped to pick off purple saxifrage. She put it on her left ear and grinned.

"How far is it?" Bain asked, but Sigrid said nothing. He grabbed her shoulder. "Maybe we should stop here."

Sigrid looked away, thinking about the plan. "The water is rushing here."

"There might have trouts," Bain said. "Come on, let's do it. Don't wait until the nightfall."

"Shhh, give me a second to—" A Fly flitted over Sifrid's head and she raised her eyebrows. "Can you smell that?"

"What is it this time?" Bain put his hands on his waist.

"That rotten smell of flesh." She held her breath. "Over there." She pointed her finger to a pine tree on the other side of the river.

"Some dead deer, perhaps."

"Just walk behind me," Sigrid took Tilda's hand and looked back at Bain. "No, I've changed my mind. You go first."

"No, I'm a gentleman so ladies first," Bain said. He wrapped his arms around his chest.

"Damn it, Bain."

"All right, all right." Bain walked in front of his sister. "But don't fall behind, OK?"

They waded into the icy cold river while Tilda waited at the river shore.

"This is ridiculous," Bain said. "You lured me here and now we are floating in this freezing cold river. Not that I want to complain, but what exactly are we doing?"

"Blah, blah, blah. Keep talking. You're whining like a girl," said Sigrid. "It's summer, isn't it? Perfect time for swimming, don't you think?"

When they reached the other side, Bain could see something behind a bush. From the corner of his eye, he saw a naked foot, blue and pale. He stepped back. Sigrid held Bain arm as they slowly walked further.

The man laid there, lifeless, mouth opened. He stared back at Bain with empty pale eyes. His torso was cut opened. Blood still drifted from his wounds like a fountain.

"Holy shit!" Bain exclaim.

Sigrid choked while Bain stifled a chuckle. She grasped his hand and then they flew through the forest.

"You go back to the village now. Take Tilda with you," Sigrid said.

"No, we go back together."

One, two, three, four, five, arrows were shot at them. None pierced through his flesh. Bain collapsed on the muddy ground as Sigrid crouched down, hands on her head. And then one shot to her angle, she was bleeding.

"Tilda?" Bain screamed her name. No answer. Nothing, only a hiss of a warm wind. There were two men, no three, came out from behind the willows. Bain pulled his dagger, but it was too slow. Those men in dark silver armors circled them to the corner. They looked alike, long brown hair with gray, cold eyes and pointed ears. They aimed the bows at Bain so he dropped his weapon to surrender. He thought about clambered up a tree, but it's too late.

"What do you want?" Sigrid asked with a trembling voice.

"You are intruders," One of the men spoke in a stern tone.

Suddenly Sigrid heard a scream, Tilda. A woman in a green cloak grabbed Tilda's neck.

"Don't you dare lay a finger on my sister!" Sigrid got up and jumped on the woman. She hit the woman repeatedly on the face.

"Run now!" Sigrid said.

Bain froze as those men pulled their bowstrings back. That's it. I'm dead.

He wrapped his arms around Tilda and closed his eyes. God be with us, he prayed.

"Enough!" Another man showed up. He jumped down from the willow as the men bowed to him. "Let them go, now."

"But your highness, the dwarves just escaped and it's the King command to clean up the forest."

"These are just kids," he said, "Can't you tell the difference between children and dwarves?"

"But we need to interrogate them. They might see something."

"I said enough. Go now," he said. "This is an unspeakable disgrace." He waved away his hand.

Bain glanced at Sigrid. "Should we run now?" he whispered. Sigrid shook her head; her angle was hurt, of course. She felt her leg stinging. "You run," Sigrid replied. Bain still didn't move while the man approached them.

The man squatted down next to Sigrid. "Be still. I mean you no harm." He pulled out the arrow from Sigrid's angle and then put a purple powder on it. "This will help ease the pain," he said. "I'm Legolas. And you are?"

Sigrid lost her words. Her mind went blank. She stared at the man intensely and bent her knees as if to jump on him. She hissed.

"I'm Bain. That's Sigrid, and that's Tilda."

"I am so sorry for all the mistake. We are looking for fugitives and my men are panic."

"Are you—an elf?" Tilda's eyes were wide open as she asked the question. She held Bain's hand tight. He tried to loosen her hand, but she squeezed it harder. Bain didn't move.

"Yes."

"So you're going to throw us into the dungeon and kill us?" Bain asked. He hauled Tilda's up with his arms.

"What?"

"I heard Elves are mean." Bain hiccupped.

"That's absurd. We don't kill innocent children," Legolas said. "But if you raise your dagger again, I might." He smirked.

"Leave my brother alone. And, by the way, I'm not a kid. I'm 16," Sigrid said.

"And I'm 2,871."

"Oh."

Legolas grinned while pulling Sigrid up. "It's just a joke."

"That's not funny," she said. "You scare the shit out of him."

"You scares the shit out of us, she means," Bain interjected immediately.

"What are you doing here anyway? You can get yourself killed very easily. Do you know that?"

"We're hungry. There's no fish in the lake so we come here to find something to eat," Sigrid replied.

"I will tell my men to prepare lembas for you. Anything else you need?" Legolas said.

"Warm milk," Tida said.

"Tilda!" Sigrid raised her voice.

"That's all right. You will get everything you need in an hour," he said and disappeared behind the thick shrubs.

On the way back to Esgaroth Sigrid still couldn't erase the corpse from her mind. They should fetch someone, an authority perhaps. Judging from his garment, the guy who lay dead there was a noble man for sure.

The path veered right as they walked back to the glade. The sheep still waited for them. Sigrid widely spread her arms and ran to chase the sheep back home. It's a long day for her. All she wanted was a good sleep.

The Elves killed him? Sigrid didn't dare to ask Legolas directly. No need to stir him up. Too many troubles today and he was kind enough to let them go. He's a charming fellow, isn't he? Sigrid thought of Legolas. Long blond hair and grey-blue eyes, icy cold but warm at the same time. She smiled to herself.


	2. Chapter 2

Sigrid was scrubbing the front porch when she heard Tilda cried out "Daddy, daddy!"

Tilda ran to her father. She crossed their yard with long strides. Bard held her up on his shoulder and kissed her forehead. "How's everyone?"

Sigrid dropped the scrub brush and rubbed her hands with the apron. "Where have you been?" she asked. "We were so worried about you."

"Didn't you receive my letter? I was in Rohan, working as a caravan guard." Bard wrapped his arm around Sigrid.

She shook her head. "I guess the drunken postman sent it to the wrong address again. I'm glad you're back. There's a lot of thing going on here."

"We can speak about this later but first let me take a nap," Bard rubbed his nose with his knuckle. His watery eyes turned red.

Sigrid pulled Bard closer and whispered into his ear. "But I want to talk now. We found a man in the forest yesterday. He's dead."

"Getting killed by bear or wolf, perhaps."

"No, the wound was too clean-cut. It's probably a long blade," Sigrid said.

"Have you told anyone?" Bard asked.

Sigrid shook her head. "I was thinking to tell the Master this afternoon. But first I need to finish all the housework."

"I'll take it from here." Bard patted her on the shoulder. "But where did you find him anyway?"

"At the river junction, not so far from the edge of the forest."

"Oh, you went there?" Bard grabbed her wrist.

"Is there something wrong?" Sigrid asked then tightening her lips.

"Nothing," Bard said with a stern voice. "I'll take a nap first and—"

"But we need to act fast. We can't just leave him there without a proper burial." Sigrid narrowed her eyes and frowned.

"He's dead. A couple of hours of waiting aren't going to ruin anything. He's already decayed." Bard yawned, stretching his arms.

"It's not his body that I concern. It's his soul."

Bard stared at his daughter for a brief moment. "There are grey Elves in the forest," Bard said.

Sigrid looked away, thinking about what to say next. She sighed before turning to face her father. "I met them."

"Oh." His face turned white as sheet. He wrinkled his nose.

They both kept silence when Tilda ran back. He combed her hair with his fingers then asked Tilda to go inside, leaving them to talk in private. Tilda nodded and disappeared behind the main door. When the door was shut, they started talking again.

"He's one of us," Sigrid said. "This man belongs to the Lake-town. We need to bring him back."

"But where exactly is he? I don't know where you found him,' Bard said.

Sigrid took a deep breath, inhaling a warm breeze to calm herself down. 'I'll go,' she said. "You go telling the Master about the corpse."

"No, it's too dangerous to go there alone. I'll go with you." Bard squeezed her hand. "I'll send Bain to fetch the Master."

Bard shouted for Bain then he fumbled with his pocket. "If we're not coming back by seven, you and Tilda eat. Don't wait for us," he told Bain. "Here're some coins. Buy yourself a nice dinner."

Bard put on his black cloak. "Let's go, my lady." He put his arm around Sigrid and they started walking.

In the forest, the sun hid behind trees. It camouflaged itself in the shadow of the wood. Sigrid thought she heard tree murmured something as they passed by. Trees don't talk, Sigrid told herself while wrapping her arms around herself. It was cold, too cold for the summer. Sigrid shivered.

They hadn't seen anybody around this part of the forest as they walked for three hours, but Bard believed there must be other fishermen who had come hunting for fish here. Those people who were desperate enough to risk their lives for food by moving here might be somewhere near. Bard slowed his pace, waiting for his daughter to catch up with him. "It's getting dark."

Sigrid brushed down her skirt. There were some muddy stains on it. She walked beside him.

Bard kept walking deep in the forest, looking for the body. Surly Bard is not a coward, but too often villagers talked behind his back that all the members of his family were faint-hearted. They had failed to protect the people from the dragon and that was the price the poor family had paid for, being outcasts. It bothered Sigrid every time people told them that their ancestors were losers. She didn't believe in the hearsay story. And she knew her father well that he would do everything to bring the body back to the village.

"You are a brave man," she said and held his hand.

Bard nodded then smiled. Neither of them talked for a while. They crossed a small stream, drenching as they waded into the water.

By the time they reached the border of the forest, the rain had started to fall. Bard took off his cloak and put it on Sigrid. He didn't want her to catch a cold, but it was too late. She sneezed unstoppably. Before he put his hand on her temple, she stepped back.

"Don't—," she said. "I'm all right."

Sigrid pulled up the hood to cover her head. She did not want to worry her father. Her legs started to sour, but she ignored the pain and kept walking. In desperation, she sang a marching song, trying to be cheerful. Birds sang along as the dusk came. And then she heard the rustle of leaves again. Something was moving behind a thick bush, she could see it from the corner of her eye. Her father, too, noticed a figure of a shadow over there. They exchanged glances, but neither of them spoke about the shadow. Legolas, maybe? Sigrid crossed her fingers in hope to see him again. The shadow hid quietly, examining every move they made. Instead of being frightened, Sigrid didn't bother with the anonymous follower. If it were a wolf or a bear, it would have attack them earlier. It made no sense that this creature behind the bush would do any harm to them. Or at least, not for now.

"Should we move to Rohan?" Sigrid asked, still looking at the shadow out of the corner of her eye.

"You want to move?" Bard said.

"There's nothing left here," she said. "How long can we live with our saving? A year, perhaps? There's no future in the Lake-town."

"There's a grain of truth of what you said," he replied, "but we can't just run away. This is our home."

"We would die soon from wars, famine or natural disasters. Life around the lonely mountain is savage. I don't know how we're going to survive in a long term."

"War has ended," Bard said sternly.

"There's always a new war out there," Sigrid said. "How many times our village has been looted and burned? Do I need to remind you that humans are greedy by nature? Those warlords will march for wars very soon when their treasury houses run out of gold."

"That's so true," Bard agreed.

"And then what? Another enlistment? Peasants like us, fight and die for our lands while those kings and queens throw parties to celebrate their victories. What a glory!"

"The conflict among humans has never ended," Bard said bitterly.

"What frustrated me the most is it's their wars, not ours, but we're the ones who pay the price of their greed. I'm so fed up, father." Her shoulders dropped. "Sometimes I don't know what exactly we're fighting against."

"Destiny, perhaps."

"Do you want Tilda to grow up here?" She fired the question off. "She might end up being a scavenger," she said, "and for Bain, a mercenary for sure."

"What a miserable dream you have for your siblings," Bard said and he sighed. Partly he knew that Sigrid was right, but he hated to admit it.

"There's no future for us, father," she said. "Let's climb out of hell and start a new life somewhere."

There's no hope, he wanted to shout it out loud, but Bard didn't say anything. His heart felt heavy. He knew that there was nothing out there, but he didn't want to destroy Sigrid's hope. It's too painful for her to deal with the reality.

"So where is the body exactly?" Bard changed the subject as they reached the enchanting river. "If we don't find him, we need to go back before the nightfall."

"I don't want to leave him behind just like that," she said.

"I know, but he's already gone. There's no need for us to chase for the ghost. Let's call it a day."

Sigrid stared into Bard's eyes. "No one deserves to die alone. At least there should have someone looking for him. Cry for him when he's gone. I don't know. Maybe I'm getting mad. Sometimes I imagine of my own death. I would rather die in my warm bed than in the middle of nowhere like this."

"Our beds have never warm so it doesn't matter wherever we die. It's all the same. We're all rotten in our graves, eaten by worms and rats. Lords or peasants, death is the same."

"Yes, you're right," she admitted.

Bard put his hand to her chin, raising her face to meet him. "Let's stop talking about death, all right?"

Sigrid nodded awkwardly. "What should I talk about then?"

"I don't know." Bard laughed lightly.

"How about the downfall of our economics? Or the corruption in the parliament?" She suggested new topics in a sarcastic tone.

"That's also too daunting for a girl."

"Why? Because I'm a girl it doesn't mean that I don't have a brain."

"I know, I know. My daughter is smart and strong." Bard gave her a compliment. "And also gloomy and arrogant," Bard continued.

"Stop talking from now on," Sigrid shouted in Bard's ear.

"Is that the way you talk to your father?" Bard snarled. They burst out laughing for no reason.

"I am truly sorry, my lord." Sigrid curtsied mockery.

There was the murmur of trees again. Sigrid turned back but saw nothing. She kept walking along the river, lengthening her steps to keep up with her father. Behind a wall of spruces, she saw a wooden cottage, which had been hurriedly built just a couple of days ago, judging from the white paint that hadn't been dried. In front of the building, there were haystacks piling up for cows. Logs were abandoned unorganized in the yard as well as an ax on a chopping block.

Bard knocked at the door, but no one answered. They walked behind the cottage and saw a shed there. Several goats were in their pens. They bleated to welcome as Bard and Sigrid walked inside.

A tiny man sat on his knees, showing his back to them. He scraped grayling, removing scales with a filet knife. Several of trout were on a chopping block— waiting to be murdered. After slicing up the fish belly, he licked his bloody hands and the knife slowly. 

Bard cleared his throat to draw the man attention. "My name is Bard. This is my daughter, Sigrid. We are from the Lake-town."

The man looked up. When he turned around, Sigrid stepped back and held her father arm tight.

The man's eyes were swollen and wide opened. There were dark circles under his eyes. "S—Smeagol, no, Gollum, no, Smeagol," he said. Gollum chopped another fish's head. He grimaced then combed his thin hair with his fingers.

"Yesterday, my children found a corpse at the river junction. Do you know who he is?"

Gollum kept silence for a few minutes then he shook his head. Bard squatted down next to him and Gollum stiffened.

"Are you sure?" Bard narrowed his eyes, pressing for more answers.

"Smeagol don't know, but Gollum, Gollum." Gollum stuttered and bit his fingernails. "Gollum heard a scream, but Gollum was too frighten of the Elves so Gollum didn't save the man and—"

Gollum spat and got up. He sheathed his knife and began to crawl forward like a rotten worm looking for food. "Follow Gollum, Gollum."

"Who is the man?" Bard asked again, walking behind Gollum

Gollum didn't respond.

When they reached the river junction a dark hair man came out behind a tuff. He had an unkempt beard like a bird's nest.

"Alfrid?" Bard said. Gollum became tensed.

"Yes, it's me. Alfrid Lickspittle." He bowed mockery.

"What are you doing here?"

"Master sent me," Alfrid replied.

"Four or five days, at least," Bard said.

"What?"

"The body, he laid there for at least four or five days. Poor man. Master must be heartbroken."

"Why?" Sigrid asked.

"It's his eldest son," Alfrid said. "So you found him?"

"No, my daughter did."

Alfrid whistled his men over. "Good, we need to interrogate her as soon as we get back to the Lake-town."

"For what? She's not involved."

"No matter you say she must come with me." Afrid shrugged. "She is the only lead we have to catch the killer."

"I saw nothing," Sigrid said.

"Nothing at all?"

"No," Sigrid said, face-harden.

"You brother said you met the Elves." Afrid smiled wickedly. "The wound was cut by an Elven blade."

Damn it, Bain! Sigrid cursed in silence. She wanted to squeeze Bain's neck for his suicidal talkative manner, but she knew it was too late. The boy had talked and now Alfrid would frantically convince everyone that the Elves did it.

"We don't know for sure," Bard said. "And supposing they killed him, what would you do next?"

"An eye for an eye," Afrid said.

"A march to death, I must warn you." Bard stared at Afrid for a long moment. "And don't you ever think to drag me into your fight."

Afrid's eyes blackened as the sun casted a shadow on his face. "We are at war, gentlemen, whether you like it or not. What else can we do? Waiting for them to come and slice our throats at night? We must be faster than them."

"No,not faster, be smarter." Bard frowned. He pressed his foot on the grass near the body. The ground was moil and cold. He stepped back, eyes on his feet. "The rain's fallen down for a couple of days."

"And?" Afrid asked.

"There must be deep footprints if he was killed here."

"There and there! Can't you see?"

"No, not that kind of footprints. Just look at the grass. It laid down as his body was pulled from that direction." Bard squatted, looking closer to the ground. "It's like he was dragged from there." He pointed out to the lonely mountain.

"So what?"

"Elves don't live on that side of the forest," Bard said, "and there has no reason they should move the body. Someone from outside Mirkwood did it. This is staged."

"I don't buy your theory," Afrid said. "Besides, which side are you on exactly? Why are you protecting them?"

"I only speak the truth," Bard said.

Sigrid knelt down to the corpse. She found something underneath the body. There was a piece of metal hidden there. She quickly put it in her pocket while Alfrid looked away.

"Maybe it's just an accident," one of Alfrid's men said, "or maybe an animal attack?"

"How do you know that?" Alfrid tilted his head to the sideways.

"Maybe he fell down on his own sword or he stabbed himself with the knife. Who knows! I have no clue. It's just some silly suggestions," he replied. "Anyway, what do you want me do?" he scratched his head.

"Carry him back to his father, of course. We need to bury him in the church." Alfrid said.

The man grimaced. "Bring me the stretcher," he told other men.

"We need to track them down if it is an animal attack," Bard said, arms folded. "And if he killed himself, where is his sword?"

Alfrid turned to Bard and looked at the man. "Don't take his suggestions seriously. He's dumber than a mule."

The man shrugged while other put the body on the stretcher.

"There's something evil here. Smeagol can feel it. Gollum saw the Elves, Gollum saw them!" Gollum said, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Bad Elves! Bad! Bad!"

"Now, we have a witness," Alfrid said, smiling like a winner.

"They're not bad. They help people," Sigrid said. She had wanted to slap Gollum on the face, but there was no chance. "And who are you exactly? Why are you here?"

"Smeagol came from the mountain. There's fish here. Gollum like it… Fish are good," Gollum said saliva dripping out of his mouth.

"You came from the mountain?" Bard repeated and exchanged glances with Sigrid.

"Let's waste no time," Alfrid said. "It's dusk now. We should get going."

Bard agreed. He passed Alfrid without looking at him.

Sigrid walked behind her father, holding the metal piece tight in her pocket. She looked at the horizon. The sun was red like blood.


	3. Chapter 3

"This is useless," Legolas said.

A cold breeze wafted the scent of dead fire from hundreds of feet away. He darted across the path, searching for the children. It was the King's command to find them—a pointless task, he thought. "Shouldn't we follow the Orcs by now?" he asked.

Tauriel didn't say anything. She was worried about the dwarf, rethinking about her decision to abandon her duty. She didn't want to comply the king's order, nor she wanted to go back living as a peasant. She must be careful what she'd wished for. It was not a smart choice, after all, to act against the King's wishes. Tauriel sighed.

Legolas had wanted to ask how she was, but he was too occupied with his duty. Roaming the forest in search for the children was not an easy task as he had thought. At least, he remembered their names. The kids came from the Lake-town, but to go there in a sudden might provoke the animosity between Elves and men again. They must move secretive. There was no contact between the two kinds for years—a dispute over the overlapping land had sparked the hostility between them. Legolas halted, listening to an owl's whisper. "That way," he said, running toward the narrow path. He could smell the rotten scent of the corpse closer. It was taken away a few days ago, but the stain of dried blood was still visible.

Tauriel kept her eyes on her feet, thinking about the attack. There had to be a better way out than telling Legolas everything. She closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath as she prayed for the dead. It's not my fault, she told herself. She stiffened when Legolas looked at her. Their eyes met, and she turned away. The secret caused her an unspeakable pain, but she couldn't say it out loud. It would destroy everything between them. Her legs felt heavy as they sauntered along the river. The water was too murky to see through the riverbed—like her heart that was invisible to him. She must confess. "I—" She lost her voice. She was ashamed of her own ambition. It's not real, she thought. Her hands were trembling and cold as Legolas stared at her.

He took her hands in his and breathed warm air on them. "It's too cold for the summer, I know. Just go back if you need some rest," he said.

A poisonous thought seeped into her mind in a sudden—kill the King. She shook it off immediately. It was a horrendous thought that permeated her mind lately. There was no way she would kill her King, but her desperation played a trick on her. She must confess. "I—," she said, again her word was lost. A preposterous dream to be with the prince, she kept telling herself. She's not worthy and they weren't meant to be. Their Worlds drifted apart from the beginning. Tear filled her eyes and she wiped it away.

"The town is not far, but you can go back now if you want to," he said.

She was overcome by fear so she kept silence. It was almost the nightfall. The light had already died down at the horizon. The expression on her face was intense. She bid her lips and shook her head. "I'm fine, my lord."

An owl whispered again to lead their way through the forest. "Then let's go," he said. Legolas pretended not to notice the tension between them.

Tauriel staggered as she tried to keep up with Legolas. She wanted to cry, but she couldn't. It's better that she suffered alone. I don't want your compassion, she screamed in silence. She thought about the King. He was right— She's not his equal. Her head knew that, but her heart said otherwise.

There was a cracking sound of branches behind them. They turned back and, in the serenity of the forest, they saw a black shape hidden behind a tall spruce—a growl as a greeting. And then followed by silence, the figure disappeared like a morning mist chased by the sun.

A wolf? Legolas thought. No, it's too tall. Maybe a deer? He narrowed his eyes. Again, it's too slow. But what was it? He glanced over his shoulder as he continued walking. He still held Tauriel's hand as they passed the edge of the forest. Legolas slowed down on purpose. He had wished this moment to be forever, but forever—for her—last for only an hour. By the time they reached the end of the forest, Tauriel let go of his hand, looking away as if he was nothing. There's something wrong with her —Something had changed. His heart felt heavy. Maybe Thranduil was right. She's not for him. It's pointless to go after someone who doesn't love you, Thranduil had said once.

"But is it sensible to let someone go although we love them?" he asked him.

"Sometimes we let them go, not because we don't love them, but because we do," Thranduil replied. "One day, you will understand."

Those words clung to his heart every day, but he had not known the true meaning of them—not until he met her. Recently, he became uncertain about his feeling. At one point, he wanted to follow his father's wish, marrying a princess, but he knew that would go against his own will. There was no compromise in between and he didn't know what the best was.

"You were destined from the beginning to be a great king," Thranduil had said.

"I was destined from the beginning to suffer for this duty," Legolas replied. "I wish I could pass down the power to others. I do not know where I am going with this burden."

"You have no choice therefore you cannot follow your wish," Thranduil said coldly. "Accept your destiny and it will lead you to a greater path."

Legolas sighed, contemplating about his father's words. He looked at Tauriel for a long moment. I should let her go, he thought. It must end soon, this feeling. It hurts so much that I cannot bear it anymore. His heart shattered. He was bleeding inside as he succumbed to the truth. Happiness, for him, seemed to last like a flame of a candle, existing for a brief moment, fulgent in a blink of an eye and disappears in the ash.

As they walked toward the skyline, the color of the crescent sun at the horizon gradually changed to gradient purple. The lonely mountain was ahead of them, but it was not their destination. The town —looked like an islet to him—laid there where the sky and the land ended. The outline of the town became more visible as the moon rose higher. In the dreamlike moment, he imagined about them, being together forever and ever. He wanted the time to stop. Legolas would trade everything he had possessed for the everlasting fantasy. But it was impossible to live in the dream forever—he must wake up.

When they reached the village, the sun had already set. Sigrid's house stood in the dark, watching them in silence with its watchful eyes as they arrived at the front yard. Legolas felt like an intruder, although, in fact, he knew he was. As he worked his way into the darkness of the front porch, he tripped over a bucket. He grabbed it in time before it would smash on the floor— no sound. Legolas rubbed his nose. The air smelled filthy after the rain— of mud and fish. A flower's odor from an incense was in the air as well, jasmine, he recalled. Then he heard some chats, coming from behind the house.

The boy sat on a chopping block and his sister crouched down on the ground.

"Wait for me here," Legolas said and Tauriel nodded.

Sigrid lifted her head when Legolas came out from the hidden place. He greeted them with his beautiful smile that captured Sigrid's heart. She lowed her eyes as if she didn't see him and she blushed. Bain got up to his feet. He froze like a stone.

"You, again," Sigrid said in a sardonic tone.

Legolas bowed.

"What is it that you want?" Bain asked.

"Just some information." Legolas raised his both hands up as he approached them. "I come in peace."

"About what? The dead man?" Sigrid said.

"That is none of my business," he said, eyes on Sigrid. "A group of dwarves has escaped from our prison. Did you see them when you were at the river junction?"

Bain shook his head. "I've never met any real one." He looked behind his shoulder. "I met some fake dwarves in a circus last year. Is that what you're after?"

"Or course not," Sigrid replied. "He said they just escaped from his prison cell."

"Right, right." Bain scratched his neck. "But why they need to run away from you?"

"Good question," Sigrid said.

"They intruded into the King's forest," Legolas said.

"So did we," Sigrid said and Bain rolled his eyes.

"Are you coming for us too?" Bain asked.

"If you want to spend sometimes in jail, then I can arrange a cell for you." Legolas laughed lightly before stroking Bain's head. "I'm kidding. Do not be afraid of me."

Sigrid lifted her chin. "We don't trust strangers easily," she said, "especially, those who attacked us."

"I am so sorry for what happened. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's not you, but that woman pulled my sister's hair." Sigrid pointed her finger to the front porch. "And yes, I can see her although she's trying really hard to hide."

"She tried to protect your sister from the attack," Legolas said.

They became silence briefly.

"Jensen is dead," Sigrid said. "We found him in the forest."

"Who?" Legolas asked.

"The Master's son."

"What happened?" he asked.

"He was slain by a long blade like the one you're carrying." Sigrid paused for a long time before continuing. "They said you killed them."

"I didn't. I swear on my grandfather's grave."

"Someone in your army?"

"If they did, I would have known." Legolas shook his head.

"It's strange that someone want to frame the Elves," Sigrid said.

"Where is the body?"

"At the Master's house. They took him there."

"Can I take a look at him?" he asked.

"You mean, in a secretive way?" she said.

Legolas nodded.

"There is a hole in the rooftop," Bain said. He and his sister stared at each other. "I think you can sneak inside from there."

Legolas sat down. "I will need your help. Can you lead the way?"

"No, I'll ask my father first," Bain said.

Sigrid frowned. "We don't need to tell him anything," she said. "He will refuse to help for sure."

"Where is him now?" Legolas said.

"At a slaughterhouse in the town. He's working there," Sigrid replied, "but we don't need him. I can go there by myself. I'll lead the way." She rolled up her sleeves.

"We don't need to help him," Bain raised his voice. He shuddered.

"He helped us before. It would be ungrateful not to help him." Sigrid said. "He's our friend. We can't just leave him."

"You are so unpredictable. Do you know that?" Bain said.

"Friend?" Legolas said. He moved his head side to side.

"Yes, you are my friend." Sigrid offered her hand.

Legolas was hesitated for a moment and he took her hand. Legolas nodded.

"My name is Sigrid. My father is Bard, the Bowman. This is my brother, Bain." He touched his shoulder. "Write our names down in your notebook. Write them down with capital letters and never forget."

"I won't," Legolas said.

"S-i-g-r-i-d," she said, spelling her name out loud for him.

"And L-e-g-o-l-a-s," he replied with a bright smile. Legolas pointed his thumb to his chest.

"And last name?" she asked.

"We don't have last names, but you can call me Legolas Thranduilion. It means Legolas, the son of Thranduil."

"Is that your father's name?" Sigrid asked.

Legolas nodded.

"Sounds awesome," Bain said. "I hope he's also kind like you."

Legolas grimaced. "Not so much. What can I say?" And he grinned. "He is more—indifferent."

"So is our father." Sigrid grinned. "Doesn't mean they don't have any feeling. They hide it well," she said.

"Yes," he said, "or perhaps they don't have any feeling anymore after years of hiding in the dark."

"They turn into stone?" Sigrid asked.

"Yes," he said again. "And we should learn from them."

"Maybe we shouldn't. It's not worth living if we can't feel anything." She said.

"Or maybe it's not worth if we feel too much," Legolas said. "And who's this Jensen exactly?"

"He was infamous around here. Jensen was a drunkard. He's always getting into fights. A couple of years ago he burned the wood—your father's wood," Sigrid explained.

Legolas remembered the fire, the turmoil of the lands that had sparked the animosity for humans in his father's heart. It was one of the most disastrous fires in the history. The burning took away a quarter of Mirkwood into ashes. Thranduil grew tired of everything lately and the conflagration was the last straw. And he hid in the dark as he had grown older and older. Every day he sat on the throne, waiting for the World to end so that he could reunion with his wife in death.

"It's forbidden to burn down the forest. It was our agreement," Legolas said. "Why he did it?"

"For pleasure, maybe? How would I know that? Jensen was mad at everything. He's like a walking bomb, a person who had no respect for anybody or anything."

"My father was furious about the fire," Legolas said. "If he knows Jensen did it, he would march here himself to confront the Master."

"He has a good reason for that," she said, " and maybe he'd already known."

Sigrid and Bain exchanged a wry smile. "And that's why Jensen was killed."

"No, I don't think so." He leaned forward. "My father is an honourable man."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult your father," Sigrid apologized. It was hard to unravel the mystery around Jensen's death. And Sigrid randomly guessed. Eru only knew who had killed him. "What will happen now? Are you going to tell your father?" She stood up to face him.

"Eventually, yes. But now, I must see Jensen's body first," he said, "and then I'll decide what to do next."

Sigrid nodded.

Without waiting for Bard to return, Sigrid and Legolas set off in the dark to the Master's house. It was cold and dark outside, but they must be hurried. The body would be buried in the graveyard in the town hall the next morning. They might dig it up, but it would take too much time for Legolas. He, too, was in a hurry to finish his business in Esgaroth. Exhuming the body is not the priory goal, he reminded himself.

"Did you know him before?" she asked Legolas.

"Jensen? No, of course not," He replied. "Why did you ask?"

Sigrid looked at him, sharp-eyed.

He gave up at last, annoying with her stare. "I met him once. He came to deliver red wine for my father. We didn't talk so I don't consider knowing him personally."

"It's strange that you didn't seem to be surprised that he's dead."

Legolas shrugged. "He deserved to die after all."

"And who is the next one?" Sigrid asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Now, you suspect that I am the killer?"

"I didn't say that."

"Your eyes say that," Legolas said, "and no, whether you believe it or not. I didn't do it."

As they walked past a small alley, Sigrid looked to the sky. It was a starry night, too romantic to make an accusation of the murder. She giggled as Legolas was nervously trying to defend himself. I believe you, she thought but kept it to herself.

"How many people have moved into the forest," he asked.

"I have no idea. Probably four or five new settlers as I heard. There's maybe more. We are starved to death here so people are moving out elsewhere."

"Not into the forest, please. My father will turn livid if he knows."

Maybe they will move to the mountain instead if there is no dragon," Sigrid said. "There are plenty of mountain goats to hunt."

Legolas sighed. "The dragon, yes. But it's his place now and I don't think it is right to just kick him out. Where's he going to live? There's no land left for the dragon."

"Just get rid of him," she suggested.

"That's cruel."

"What? I thought everybody hates the dragon," Sigrid asked surprisingly.

"Between you and me, all right?" Legolas smiled shyly. "I hate killing animals."

"Me neither," she giggled. "But why are you pretending to hate it?"

"As a prince I need to act as if I am a ruthless warrior. I cannot show any sympathy." He dropped his head into his palms and then he sighed. "I wasn't born cruel, but I was made."

"That's so dull. Please, don't pretend to be something you're not."

"You don't understand." He looked up to face her.

She didn't look away. "No, I don't," she said. "It's beyond my humble knowledge to understand the Prince's sophisticated mind. The only thing I know is deep down inside he's kind and sweet. But he keeps his distance from others—not because he's a ruthless warrior as he portrays—but because he's too afraid." She wanted to hold him by the arm, but she withheld herself. It was an inappropriate move for a lady—although she's not. Sigrid arranged her frizzy hair with her fingers and then she lifted her head high as she walked. She's not afraid of showing her feeling as much as him.

He walked after her in silence, contemplating of what to say next.

"Eru only knows whether there has life after death," she said, "so embrace life. Make it worth living. Don't waste your time acting as if you're somebody else."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because life is too precious to be wasted away with those nonsenses," she said. "And I like the real you more,"

And he blushed.


	4. Chapter 4

As a father himself, Bard knew it would be hard to deal with the death of one’s children, especially when it comes in a sudden. Bard’s heart felt heavy when he delivered the news to the Master. There had been problems with the Master and his son for a long time, but he surely loved Jensen. 

Alfrid exchanged a glance with the Master, and then he took the Master by his arm to help him sit down. There was a brief silence in the room.

“So—how did it happen, anyway?” the Master asked with a trembling voice. He closed his eyes, waiting for the answer.

Alfrid took a deep breath. “The Elves, of course.” 

“The Elves?” the Master repeated.

“We have no prove. Don’t make any conclusion too early.” Bard narrowed his eyes.

“We got an alibi. He said he saw the Elves.” Alfrid interjected. 

“But he didn’t say that he saw them killed Jensen.” Bard looked straight into Alfrid’s eyes. “Besides, that is their territory. It’s their rule, not ours. If Jensen intruded their land, the Elves have the right to—” 

“Enough, I want to hear no more,” The Master said. 

“Maybe it was a wolf,” one of the Master’s men said. “Summer is a perfect time for them to hunt.” 

“No, I—actually— ‘we’ saw the wound. He was cut by a blade, an Elvish blade.” Alfrid said. He pointed his finger to Bard. “You were there. You saw it too.”

Bard turned to Alfrid. “Yes, but it is inconclusive. Any blade can make such a wound.” 

The Master got up and paced back and forth. “How dare they did this to my son?” He clasped his hands to call for his servant. “Send a message to the Elven King. We need a compensation for my loss—one million in Castars.”

“And if they refuse?” Bard asked. 

“Blood for blood,” Alfrid replied. 

Bard crossed his arms. “We have nothing to fight back. They will slaughter us like pigs.” He shoke disagreement while Alfrid raised his eyebrows. 

The Master gave Bard a hard look. “The compensation must be paid.”

“But not in the expense of our people’s lives.” Bard swallowed. 

Alfrid smiled grimly as he leaned forward to face Bard. “Are you afraid?” 

“And don’t you? It’s not worth to march for war without knowing for sure they did it.” Bard said. 

“Any suggestion?” The Master looked at Bard puzzling. 

“Open an investigation. Do it quietly.” Bard suggested. 

"What a waste of time." Alfrid put his hands on his waist. “Then what? If the Elves did it and then what?” 

“Then we fight,” Bard said. He turned to the Master. “But make sure Jensen’s death is unjust. If the Elves have a good reason to kill him, then he deserved it.” 

The Master pursed his lips and nodded agreement. “Fair enough.” 

 

As Sigrid climbed up, Legolas helped her got up on her feet. He looked into a crack on the rooftop and found the body lay on a wooden table, waiting to be moved to the cemetery. 

“You wait here,” Legolas said.

“I’ll go with you.” Sigrid shook her head. As she could see from above, there was no one in the room so she thought it might be safe for her to go down. “I’ll cover your back. Otherwise, you might get caught.” 

“You will slow me down,” Legolas said.

Sigrid bridled. “No, I won’t. Don’t underestimate me. I’m stronger than you think.” 

Legolas pulled a dagger from his pocket. “Then keep this.” 

By the time they landed on the ground, Sigrid had heard Alfrid’s harsh voice outside the room. She crouched down under the table and held the dagger tightly in her hand. Luckily, Alfrid walked away without coming into the room. Sigrid lit the lantern on the wall, a stupid mistake, she admitted. But it was too dark for her to see anything, unlike Legolas who has sharp eyes like a hawk. The smell of rotten flesh struck Sigrid. She covered her mouth with a handkerchief while Legolas took off the blanket from Jensen’s body. 

“Don’t be a coward,” Legolas teased at Sigrid. 

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not—but—I don’t like the smell of blood.” 

“Me neither, but I’m used to it. This is surely not the worst I’ve seen.” 

Slowly Legolas examined the body. The wound was deep from Jensen’s left shoulder to his belly, a clean-cut manner. He ran his finger on the bruises around Jensen’s shoulder and turned to Sigrid. “Hand me the knife.” He pointed to the knife on the table.

Sigrid stood motionless as if she hadn’t heard Legolas’s request. A pang of horror kicked in her stomach. 

“Hand me the knife,” Legolas repeated. 

Sigrid’s hands were trembling. She reluctantly gave Legolas the knife. She had wanted to ask him what he would do, but deep down inside she knew exactly what would happen next. 

And then Legolas cut Jensen’s torso without any hesitation. 

Sigrid wanted to scream, but she didn’t want to draw any attention from the guards outside so she kept quiet. She closed her eyes as Legolas took a closer look at the wound and the new cut. 

“It is—almost identical,” Legolas said. 

“What?” 

“I said the wounds are almost identical. It’s not an Elvish sword that killed him. Just take a look. This is the cut from that ordinary knife and this is the one before.” 

Sigrid’s eyes met his and she nodded agreement. She stepped away as Legolas folded the blanket back to cover Jensen’s body. A wave of nausea flooded Sigrid. “So this is all you want to see?” 

“I need to be sure that it’s not one of my soldiers,” Legolas said, “to avoid any false allegation from now on, understood?” 

Sigrid gasped for air as they slowly climbed back to the rooftop. 

As they landed on the ground, Legolas gave Sigrid a lantern before walking away. 

“Wait. What will you do next?” Sigrid asked.

“Nothing. It’s all done. I have other assignments from the King that require immediate attention from me.” 

“That’s it?” Sigrid frowned.

“That’s it. I cannot waste any more time.” He nodded. “Or do you have any suggestion?” 

Sigrid looked deep into his eyes. “Bring your King here. Tell him to come. He needs to talk to the Master himself.”

Legolas’s eyes were wide open for several minutes. “I admire your sense of humor, but our King is not going to speak to—let says a person with a lower status. He is too gracious.”

“Our Master needs a closure.” Sigrid bit her lip.

“Yes, but it’s not our men who kill him so it’s your own problem. Besides what good is it to bring the King here?” Legolas said. “He will only bring more tears for your people.” 

“What do you mean? So the rumor is true?”

“Forget about those bedtime stories, shall we? I must go now. Thank you very much for your help today. You are very kind. Novaer,” Legolas said without looking at her and disappeared into the dark like a ghost. 

“Novaer? What that supposes to mean?” Sigrid shouted behind him, but there was no reply. 

Bard was sitting on the porch when Sigrid arrived home. Tilda and Bain had gone to bed already so Sigrid didn’t have a chance to tell Bain about her discovery. Bard’s face was hardened. He folded his arms as Sigrid stood at the front door, trying to think of any excuse for coming home late. 

They had looked at each other in silence for a long moment before Sigrid decided to speak up. “I was at the dock, talking with some friends and then I forgot about the time. Sorry, father.”

“Don’t. Stop there.” Bard raised his hand and took a deep breath. “I went there but didn’t find you. Don’t lie. Where were you?” 

“Walking around—That’s all,” Sigrid lowered her shoulders. 

“Fine. If you’re not going to tell me, no dinner tonight.” 

Sigrid kept her head low as Bard let her inside the house. This night would be long, but all she was thinking about was Legolas. 

 

Mirkwood, Third Age, 2941

 

Amidst of the heavy rain, the thunder stroke. The King woke up, shivering by a dread nightmare that had been troubled him for months. He crouched under his silk blanket, trying to hide from the beast, and then he realized that it was only a dream that chase him in the dark. He got up and wiped a bead of sweats on his forehead. ‘How can I be such a fool?’ He thought. And then he rose up from his bed to call for his servant. 

“Send a message to Elrond,” the King said. “Tell him to come.” 

The servant bowed and jotted down his message on a parchment. “My Lord, May I ask what is troubling you?” 

The King put on his golden tunic. “Dreams, they are nonsense, of course, but I need to talk to Elrond. And call my son now. I also need to speak with him.” 

The King had sat on his throne in silence for a long time. He rose up to greet his son enthusiastically as the Prince came in. 

“Alas! My son. What took you so long? Come, come. Tell me what you have found in the forest?” 

The Prince bowed. “Nothing much, father. Just a body of a man.”

“I heard about that. Can we be certain that this is not going to bring us any trouble?” One of the guards standing next to the throne said. 

“The man was the son of the Master. There are some rumors that we killed him.” The Prince replied.

“But we didn’t, did we?” The King said.

Legolas gave the King a black look and became silent.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sentence in * is a Tolkien's writing from Music of the Ainur.

The snow —the brutal snow of this harsh winter— had fallen hard by the time Lindir arrived at the main hall. He rubbed his hands against his cloak to warm himself while waiting to be called inside.

A few ealdormen passed by and began to converse with each other.

Lindir bowed as they walked passed.

They, too, were trying to warm themselves by blowing warm air on their hands.

Lindir had goose bumps as wind breathed through the corridor.

The King had built his palace underground hundreds year before. The open-air structure of the palace clearly didn't help protecting them from the brutal winter. The King preferred to keep it this way, freezing and isolated. He even went so far to build extra bulwarks along the enchanted river so that no one could invade his territory. This part of the palace was a new additional wing, built as a hidden pathway. Invisible from the outside, this labyrinth leads the way to the courtyard without attracting any attention from the outside. It was usually thronged with guards and servants. But the cold probably drove them to hide inside. Only a handful of soldiers still guarded the main gate. They were carrying shields engraved with a picture of a stag, Thranduil's emblem. Above the stag, there were some words in Sindarin that can be translated as 'to fight and to die for our King.'

Being here made Lindir feel uncomfortable, but since the summon had been sent to Lord Elrond recently, he had no choice.

Where's Lord Elrond, by the way?

"You can go inside now," one of the guards said.

Lindir nodded. As he walked through the pitch-dark alley, he heard murmurs of trees. Trees don't talk. He reminded himself. Wait, Ents do talk. But what are they doing in Thranduil's palace?

At the end of the path, there was a grim looking servant waiting for him. Lindir showed the letter to the elf.

The servant glared at Lindir coldly. "Why Lord Elrond is not here by himself?"

"The letter explains everything," Lindir replied, "and it's not my duty to discuss this matter with you." He bridled.

"Very well," the servant said sardonically and opened the door for him hesitantly. "You have five minutes with the King."

Lindir gave him a wry smile. "The King will decide for himself."

The path led Lindir to a long narrow hall that seemed to be endless. He caught a glimpse of a figure standing at the end of the path as he walked further.

"Le suilon, Lindir." A serene voice greeted him.

Lindir bowed. "Suilad, my King."

"How is your journey?"

"Not too terrible, my Lord."

Thranduil lit the candle on his table carefully. "Forgive me. I did not invite you to the throne hall. I want a private conversation."

In contrast with the elegant throne hall, the study room was small and cozy. There were piles of books everywhere.

Thranduil put a log in the fireplace to keep the fire roar.

"I understand," Lindir said.

"Wine or Miruvor?" Thranduil gave Lindir a warm smile.

"Wine, please."

"As you wish." Thranduil handed Lindir a golden cup filled with red wine and raised his glass. "For our friendship."

Lindir bowed as low as he could. "I am not worthy, my Lord. I am just a messenger."

Thranduil stared at Lindir for a moment and burst out laughing. "You are too serious. You always are." He wrapped his arm around Lindir's shoulder. "Just have a seat and relax."

Lindir dropped himself on a chair across Thranduil as he had told immediately. "My Lord, I heard the rumor—"

"Ae, the rumor, yes, it's true." Thranduil glanced at Lindir shapely and supported his chin with his hands. "Tortured, strangled and beheaded."

Lindir sighed and gave the letter to the King. "I have heard their bodies were branded."

"Branded, yes. The secret fire symbol," Thranduil said. As he read through Elrond's letter, Thranduil frowned. "So that's all he can come up with."

"Forgive me my lord, but he wants us to be cautious."

Thranduil rose up his voice in anger. "The end is near and he wants me to wait?"

Lindir winced as Thranduil raised his hand dismissively.

"Perhaps we all should retire from this matter," said the King. "There's no point in chasing the shadow."

"You know we cannot."

"More wine?" Thranduil said. He took a deep breath and handed Lindir the wine.

Lindir shook his head. "You did well to protect us, my lord. Please, don't be despair. It's not the time to give up yet."

"Not yet, no. I agree," Thranduil said. "Have you heard about Lórien?"

"Yes, my lord. It is indeed tragic."

"Fifteen?"

"Thirteen, lord. Thirteen soldiers have perished." Lindir looked down at the table. He spotted a book on Thranduil's desk. There was a picture of a fire on the cover.

"Terrible, too terrible." Thranduil caught his glance. "The flame imperishable." He pointed to the tapestry behind Lindir, which resembled the picture on book's cover. He recited some phrases from the book. "Only one thing I have added, the fire that giveth Life and Reality, and behold, the secret fire burnt at the heart of the world*."

They sat in silence for a moment, watching the flame in the fireplace died down slowly.

Thranduil smiled grimly. "Whoever did these things will be punished, I promise."

Lindir I looked through the window. The snow still fell down cruelly. There might have a storm tonight. Lindir thought.

Thranduil leaned back in his chair. "Next time I will catch them." He said softly like a kiss.

Lindir turned to Thranduil. His facial expression was vacant. "But how, my lord?" He heard an owl hooted outside. The nightfall was coming as the sky gradually changed its color from gray to dark blue.

Thranduil gave him a somber expression. He sat behind his desk stiffened. "I need Elrond's help."

He studied Lindir with his icy blue eyes.

"And he offers his help by sending me here."

"Yes, Lindir, my good man. You are indeed helpful," Thranduil said in a sarcastic tone.

"I will track them down by myself, but I also need your help as well," Lindir said.

Thranduil's face hardened. "I want an army and he sent me one man. Now, you want my help." Thranduil turned livid.

"I am able to handle the situation quietly, my lord. That's what I'm good for."

Thranduil ran his fingers through his hair, contemplating about his choice. "You are too soft, my Lindir. This time, I need berserks."

"They do more harm than good. You know that too well."

"I have no option, haven't I?" Thranduil said. He fixed his eyes on Lindir, unblinking.

"I know." Lindir dropped his gaze and nodded agreement. His heart pounded heavily as if he was interrogated by the King. He looked up again to meet Thranduil's icy cold eyes. "But no matter you say, I insist. I am the best person to solve this problem." He took a deep breath to calm himself down as fear lanced through him.

They had exchanged a long glance before Thranduil nodded slowly. "Then I won't deny your help," he said, "and I have a mission for you." Thranduil leaned closer to Lindir and gave him a parchment.

Lindir narrowed his eyes.

"This," Thranduil whispered, "is the message I got from Gondor. It says there are four more deaths there, at least.

Lindir leaned forward to read. "The killing spree has reached there as well?"

Thranduil nodded. "All were branded. The same as here and in Lórien."

"You want me to go to Gondor?"

"No, there is something else closer to home."

"Where, my lord?"

"Esgaroth," Thranduil said.

"May I ask why you are not sending your Prince instead?"

"I had sent him before you came," Thranduil said, "but now I want an outsider like you to look into the problem."

"You mean—an undercover—"

"Not exactly. What I need is—you go there by yourself." Thranduil smiled wryly. "Just pretending that you are not sent by me."

Thranduil leaned forward. "Now, I will tell you a little bit more."

"As you wish, my lord." Lindir crossed his arms.

"Many years ago there was a great fire in this forest. It was burned down by a man from the Lake-town. His name was Jensen. Now, he's dead. Rumor has it that we killed him."

"Did you?"

Thranduil frowned. "If that is the case I won't send you to find out what really happened."

"May I ask?" Lindir tilted his head sideways. "If he were your enemy, you should be glad that he's dead. Why bother—"

"Because someone is trying to frame me for what I did not do," Thranduil said dryly, "and I don't like it."

"Is it relevant to the slaughters around here?"

"Could be," Thranduil smiled grimly. "It is your duty to find out for me."

"Anything more I need to know?"

Thranduil opened the desk drawer and took a piece of paper out. "Have you heard of this place?"

Lindir shook his head. "No, my lord."

"It is a monastery, a place to worship Eru in the Lake-town. I have sent two of my men there." Thranduil grimaced. "Both disappeared."

"Dead?"

"Not sure. And I don't want to take any risk to send more men. There are many troublesome occurrences around here lately." He rummaged in his drawer again. "Anyway, I received this letter a couple of days ago."

The letter was written in brief. It said:

My King,

There are some devil worshippers who hide among them.

"Worshippers? Who are they?" Lindir asked.

"Obviously not Eru's followers. But who are they, I have no knowledge." Thranduil paused for a second. "The man, Jensen, who was allegedly killed by me, his body was moved into the deep forest." He squatted down in front of the fireplace. "I believe he had been killed in this monastery before someone or—something moved him to Mirkwood."

"This is madness." Lindir gave Thranduil a sharp look. "Priests don't kill. It's against their belief."

Thranduil nodded. "Yes, I know. But the letter says something about these devil worshippers so I assume they are not those priests."

"So you want me to start from this clue?"

"Correct," Thranduil said, "but as you have said, investigate it quietly might be the best option. I don't want to provoke any hostility between Mirkwood and the Lake-town." He stared hard at Lindir. "And if you want my help, then I will allow Legolas to go there with you again."

"I accept your generous offer. It is a great honor to work with the Prince." Lindir bowed. "It is my pleasure to meet him if you allow me to—."

"The pleasure is mine." Legolas came out from the dark corner of the room.

"This monastery you speak about, how much do we know about it?" Thranduil asked Legolas.

"One abbot and one abbess in charge. There are twenty priests and ten nuns. They live quietly not so far from the dock. Ten miles away at most," Legolas explained.

Lindir thought for a moment. "It seems to have nothing suspicious. Is there any previous violence in the church?"

"No," Legolas said.

"We need to talk to them," Lindir said.

"We don't have to. Besides they don't talk to strangers," Legolas said dismissively.

"It is not enough to put them on our surveillance secretly. We need to talk to those people."

Thranduil nodded agreement. "They love talking to merchants."

"Elvish merchants? Is that too obvious?" Legolas frowned.

"Tell them you are from Rivendell," Thranduil said. "Get ready by tonight and set off the earliest as you can." Thranduil caught the flame on the candle with his hand. The fire died down in his palm.

Lindir kept his eyes on his feet as Thranduil circled around him slowly. "No more waiting," Thranduil said.

"No more," Legolas repeated grimly.

"Thank you, my son. For being so helpful." Thranduil patted Legolas on the shoulder. "I am so tired."

You are not the only one, Lindir thought, but he kept his mouth shut.

Thranduil put his arm on Lindir's shoulder once more. "My good man. Don't let me down this time." He whispered into Lindir's ear and squeezed his shoulder hard. "Not this time."

And Lindir winced at the coldness in the King's voice.


End file.
